


What I Choose Is My Voice

by BelaLugosi



Series: Disarm [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Confrontation, Homophobia, M/M, One Shot, Short and Semi-Sweet, Speaking Up, Talk of proposal, it feels good, open-ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelaLugosi/pseuds/BelaLugosi
Summary: Baz sets the record straight with Malcolm... so to speak.
Relationships: Daphne Grimm/Malcolm Grimm, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Disarm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778779
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	What I Choose Is My Voice

**Baz**

He looks so worried. His large hand is wrapped around my wrist, forcing me to pause. “You don’t have to go down there, babe. You’re an adult now, and if you refuse his summons… if you make _him_ come to _you_ … won’t that be better? It would take him time and you could think of something to say.”

Another family dinner had just passed. The air had been tense and the conversation stunted. My father asked me about my studies and when I compared my courses to something Simon is doing in his classes, Father changed the subject. When Daphne asked about friends, I’d told them all about the people Simon and I had met through a football club at his uni and the excellent study-partner that Bunce turned out to be. My answers made her smile but my father gripped his cutlery with white knuckles. When Simon chimed in with a story about an interaction between myself and his downstairs neighbour, Father set his fork down firmly. 

“What about _your_ friends, Basilton? _Your_ neighbours? _Your_ classes? Surely there is some part of your life at university that’s just _yours?_ ”

I hadn’t had much to say to that, so I elected to stay silent. In the quiet, we finished our meals and Simon and I took our leave, hiding in my room. He’d held my hands and kissed my knuckles; I’d brushed his curls from his forehead. We didn’t need to talk about it. It had all been said. I was not planning to confront him, not yet. He would ask for that confrontation himself.

I just hadn’t realised it would be tonight. 

From the door, Daphne looks on us, having delivered the summons Simon mentioned, but, politely, she says nothing. The tears on the corners of her eyes tell me that she’s on the same page. She’s been with me, with _us_ , since the first time he spent Christmas with us in Hampshire. She’d known _then_ and had been quietly working on Father. My step-mother had been quietly lending her support, quietly holding our hands, quietly shedding her tears. I realise I’ve been very lucky - the woman is a gem.

I am not going to ask for quiet anymore - not from her or me or Simon. I’m not going to expect it from Father, in fact, I expect tonight will be riotously loud.

With a kiss on Simon’s mouth and Daphne’s cheek, I turn to face the corridor. “I’m okay. I know what to do.” And I do. I’ve got _plans_. I leave them there, in my room. Daphne has stepped in and is guiding Simon to sit on the couch. I’m so very glad we have her. 

In my father’s study, I sit across from the man I’ve grown up trying to emulate. He frowns and I keep my expression neutral. I will not be affected. I _won’t_. Not this time. 

“Basilton,” he inclines his head in greeting, as though this were a business meeting, rather than a father speaking to his son. I am not a transaction.

“Father,” I reply. “You asked to see me?” Neutral. So very.

“Yes,” he folds his hands and leans back. “I wonder if we might discuss the idea of you transferring to a school closer to home for your last year. I’ve prepared a list.” He hands me a sheet of paper that I’ve seen before. “You could live here and not have to worry about Fiona’s coming and goings.” 

I sigh and set the list on his desk, facedown. 

“I have no wish to revisit this topic, Father. I’ve told you; the program I’m in isn’t comparable to anything offered at any of these schools and my life is in London. In any case, I’m not disrupted by Fiona’s use of her own flat, as I’m rarely there anyway. We have discussed all of this.” 

“We have,” he sighs. “I am only revisiting this topic because I think it would be good for you to get out of the city for a while.”

“You mean to say, ‘get away from Simon,’ don’t you?” I level my eyes to meet his. No expression. 

“I do. You’re so very young to be so incredibly intertwined with someone. You’ve never even dated anyone else, any _girls_ \- how do you truly know where your preferences lie?” He leans forward as he says this, clearly interested in making his point. 

“The same way you can be sure of yours, even through never having dated men. My sexuality isn’t decided by my current partner, Father.” I sneer - I can’t help it.

“It’s not the same, Basilton, and you know that.” His eyes glint.

“Beg to differ,” I tell him, cooly. “Regardless, I have to decline, for the sake of my education and my sanity. I’m happy with my life, Father, and my current state of intertwinement is the largest contributing factor.” He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak, but I choose not to let him. “In fact, Father, I’m about to be more intertwined than ever. I intend to propose to Simon. Soon.”

I’ve been planning this since our second year at university, before Simon’d gotten his magic back. I only put it off this long because proposing just after it returned seemed like something that would feed his insecurities of only being loveable as the “Greatest Mage.” Bollocks. My love, the soft, brave, perfect moron. 

My father looks like he’s broken, now; his mouth opens and closes a few times. It would be refreshing to see him so humanly startled if it wasn’t so disconcerting.

“You _can’t_ ,” is what he comes out with, finally.

“I think you’ll find I can,” I say smoothly. “Fiona’s given me a suitable heirloom for a ring and I’ve been researching rites with Bunce. I’m actually quite excited, Father.”

“You are your mother’s only _heir_ , Basilton,” he insists. “You’d let the Pitch line die with you? _Her_ line?”

I expected this. “Gay men have children all the time, Father,” I begin. “And even so, I’m not certain I _can_ reproduce, being a vampire.” He grimaces. He hates when I say it outright. “Simon and I will find a surrogate. He’ll have a touch of Grimm-Pitch magic after the rites at the wedding, of course, and Fiona and I have been looking into family-bonding rites as well. Ways to bond our child to Pitch magic. The spells are old, and the translations are complicated, but apparently I am not the first mage in a long proud line without the ability to reproduce on my own. We’re confident that we can make it work, and I’m confident that I’ll love my children regardless. I’m confident my Mother would as well, were she here to have the chance.”

“The child would be Simon’s?” That is the part he’s caught on, clearly. More focus on problems than solutions. 

“The child would be Simon’s and mine, if he agrees.” I know he will. “And we’ll use magic to make sure that the Pitch power gets passed down. I’ve thought of this, Father.”

“I can’t allow you to marry him, Basilton,” Father grinds out. “I don’t want you to marry a man at all, but he’s the Mage’s heir. It flies in the face of what we stand for.”

I allow a frown to form on my face. “He _was_ the Mage’s heir. He was being used and abused by that man, and ended up being the one to bring him down.” I explain, slowly, again. “And there isn’t anything you can do to stop me, Father. I’m going to propose and I am hopeful that he’ll accept. I love him, he loves me.” 

“I can disinherit you.” 

I nod; I’ve seen this coming. “The only estate you can prevent me from inheriting is the Grimm Estate, and right now, I'm not sure I _want_ to be the heir of my father's house.” 

Father’s face is turning from red to purple. Did he not think I’d realise this? I continue.

“Fiona and I control the Pitch Estate. I suppose _she_ could fight me, but I doubt she’d be so inclined. She loves Simon, and, more relevantly, she loves _me_.

“I love you, Basilton. This is just as much about your future as it is about our names, son.” 

I scoff. “You spend an awful lot of time trying to break my heart for a man who claims to love me, Father.” 

He sputters for a moment, then, “Basilton, I…”

I cut him off. “Enough. You know my position. I love you and I want you to be a part of my life, but I will not silently endure your criticisms, judgement, and bigotry any longer. You can disinherit me, if you like, or you can keep your hurtful words to yourself.” I stand up and straighten my blazer. “But, personally, I hope you can sort out a way to accept me for who I am and what makes me feel happy and settled in my own skin. I do love you, Father.” I spare him a smile. “I’m going to bed now, Simon is waiting for me. Goodnight.” 

I am pushing the door open to depart when I hear, quietly, “I love you, too, son. Goodnight.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. Come yell at me about it on Tumblr if you want.  
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


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